Paradise

I tried to explain to my teacher why I was late to class.
I had told her numerous times already this year, but she still insisted on giving me detentions.
“I have to walk to school! My mother won’t take me, and I can’t drive!” I said, but she just kept blathering on about how, “surely, one of my friends could give me rides, if that was the case!”
I couldn’t stand it anymore.
“I don’t HAVE any friends!”
I yelled at her, and, ignoring the blue slip of paper she held out to me, went back to my desk.
I sat there, fuming for the rest of class. Couldn’t my teachers get it that my mother was a conniving witch?  The administration was full of idiots. Just because they had reached adolescence relatively unscathed didn’t mean that they knew everything.
Although I had been lying about the “no friends” part, I knew neither one of them had the capacity to drive me, so I never bothered to ask.
I got held back after class, and then Mrs. Collins proceeded to psychoanalyze my behavior, and suggested that I take a trip to the counselor’s office. She also handed me the blue slip, saying that walking to school or not, I was still tardy for the seventh time. Then she had the nerve to suggest I start walking earlier.
I wasn’t quite brave enough to throw the detention back in her face, but the second I left the room, I ripped it in half and tossed it to the ground. I didn’t have time to do detentions.

When the bell tolled to announce the end of school, I did not run and throw myself into the hall melee. Instead, I waited for about a minute, organizing my things. (Battering my way through 400 crazed teenagers is not exactly my idea of fun.) Then I got up and walked out the door, hugging to wall as I went down the hall. I slipped into the bathroom on the corner, and then into an empty stall, and waited for the bathroom to empty out.
Ten minutes later, it was.
I then stepped out, and turned to face myself in the mirror. The harsh glare of the fluorescent lights fell unflatteringly upon my face.  Here was the only place that I could see myself, the only place I would allow myself to see any good in me. My mother had destroyed all the mirrors in our house except her own, so this was also the only place I could see myself at all.
Critically, I eyed my features. My nose was crooked (broken once), and the nostrils were too wide. My jaw was strong, my lips thin. My face was ruddy and slightly pitted from old acne scars. No, this was not a face of beauty. Only my eyes, I thought, were my best feature. Heavy lidded and sea green, they were framed with thick blonde-brown lashes that were a shade brighter than my graham-cracker colored, ugly wavy hair. I thought that they looked too beautiful that they belong to me; as I looked deep into my own eyes, all I saw was my monstrous reflection.

Walking home was somehow worse than going to school. At school I could ignore my clueless teachers and their dumb homework, tardies, and detentions. At home, I had to deal with my mother.
I sighed moodily and kicked a rock down the street a block from my house. Maybe if I was lucky, she’d be downstairs, asleep in front of the TV. Then I could take care of those chores I hadn’t finished this morning without having her harping over me, and maybe sneak some extra snacks into my room.
I fished the key out from under our doormat, and tried to unlock the door as quietly as I possibly could. I slipped inside and closed it silently behind me, latching the deadbolt as I did. When I turned around, she was standing there.
Damn!
For such a heavy, slobbish person, she could move with remarkable stealth. I could tell from the way that her eyebrows creased in a frown that there would be trouble. And surely enough, there was.
“I thought I told you to clean the kitchen up!” She snapped, placing pudgy hands on her hips.
“And I thought I told you I didn’t have time to this morning!” I retorted, “I said I would do it this evening!” Answering my mother like this was always dangerous. She had locks on the pantry and freezer, and took particular joy in keeping food from me. Odds are I’d probably go hungry tonight.
“I don’t care! I told you this morning, so I expected it to be done! If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times--”
I was sick of this.
“Well, you can do it yourself! Just because Dad’s dead doesn’t mean that you can use him as an excuse to make ME do everything!” I yelled, knowing that I had stepped too far.
Her face contorted into a grimace of rage.
She then proceeded to shout at me, using language that I dared never to repeat. She accused me of being a disgrace to my father, and herself, and, and, and…after a while I was able to tune her out. I had only started listening when she bellowed,
“GO TO YOUR ROOM!!!!”
The other unspoken threat in that I already understood.
I stormed down the hall, turned into my room, and slammed the door. Locking it, I then threw myself into my bed, and buried my face in my pillow, fighting the urge to scream. I wished for the thousandth time that I could be somebody, anybody, else.

I didn’t leave my room that night. Instead, I went to bed hungry and still dirty from being out all day. I woke up about midnight and crept out of bed to run some hot water in a bowl and rub myself down with a washcloth and soap. It was too much to hope that she wouldn’t hear the shower coming on. I went back to bed, thinking that my hair could wait one more day.
When I woke up in the morning, I threw on some new clothes, and then dove for the meager stash of food I had hidden under one of my loose floorboards. Double-damn. All I had left was one box of chocolate Pop-Tarts and a bag of Chex Mix. I slipped a Pop-Tart out of the box, replaced the floorboard, and slipped it into my bookbag for my walk to school. I didn’t feel like making any sort of contact with my mother today, so I didn’t even leave my room to find a reflective surface. I didn’t care if I looked like crap or not. No one paid attention to me anyway. I walked over to my bedroom window, opened it, and then climbed out.
Shutting it firmly behind me, I scooted over to the edge of the house, hung from the gutter, and dropped. I had done this so many times over the past six years; there was a small round patch of bare earth where I landed. Frankly, I was amazed my mother hadn’t bolted my window shut yet, but I wasn’t complaining.
I set off for school, making sure that the reflectors were still on my bookbag. I always started walking when it was still fairly dark, and I didn’t want to get hit by a car.
The air was cool, but clean. The silence of the morning was a welcome respite to the usual shouting that most of the time accompanied my voyage to school. The sun was starting to clear the tree line, and I could feel it’s warmth on the back of my arms and head. I let out a breath, wishing that I could keep going and never look back. But that, of course, was impossible. I had to take care of her, it was his last wish.

About half a mile from the school, my eyes caught a flashing sunspot on the pavement. Magpie-like, I couldn’t help but go examine the brilliantly winking gleam, and I discovered that someone had left a quarter lying in the road. I bent down and picked it up, holding it in my palm. It sat there, glinting cheerily, and I felt an instant of bright triumph. My mother couldn’t stop me from having some money, and maybe I could accumulate enough money to buy a bus ticket, or a taxi fare, if I spent sufficient time searching for change. But then at once came the dispiriting realization of how pathetic I was, actually thinking about spending my time scouring empty parking lots or pay phones for discarded cents. I pocketed the quarter anyway, thinking that maybe I could buy some gum.
Only hobos and homeless people have reason to crow over a fallen quarter.
When I arrived at school, I discovered that my only two friends were absent. Sonya was normally at school before me, and when she didn’t show it normally meant that she had had, in her own words, an “accident”. One of the reasons that I liked Sonya was because whenever we talked, hearing about how her life sucked in different, more painful ways than mine made me feel just a little better. I think she felt the same way about me, but we never got to talk much outside of school.
Marty was a brain-damaged nineteen-year-old who had attached himself to me when school had first started this year, and I think he liked me because I looked more approachable than other girls at the didn’t mind him either; surprisingly his conversation was at times, more intelligent than half the blonde bimbos at this school. But he was on a field trip to the nature reserve with the rest of the “special education” kids, so I wouldn’t have anyone to hang out with before school started.
Screw this. Going to school was intolerable when there wasn’t anyone to distract me from it! If I ditched, it would probably mean another “unexcused absence” on my record, and another shouting match with my mother, but I didn’t really care. My grades were already so abysmal; there seemed no reason to really come to school anymore. And as for my mother’s perspective… I would probably end up retaking the grade again.school. I
I turned from the front of the school and started walking. I walked and walked, until I made it into town. The only good thing about being in such a small, boring town was that it never took very long to get anywhere. I looked around. There was an old theater, currently closed, a McDonalds (blech), and a small shopping center currently within view. I didn’t want to go to the theater; they would probably realize I was a student because I still had my bookbag, and then they’d call my mother, even if I didn’t tell them my name. Sucky thing about small towns: everyone knew everyone. No WAY would I go into McDonalds, and if I went to the shopping center I’d be under the stares of lots of people again. Not exactly what I wanted. I noticed that I had missed something. There was a small building on the far side of the shopping center’s parking lot. I walked toward it.
Seeing as it had been a long time since I had been into town for any reason other than buying groceries, I guess I missed the “new opening” announcements. The sign affixed on the building proclaimed that it was the “Hep Cafè”. The windows on the structure were tinted and I couldn’t see inside, so I pushed open one of the doors and went in.
The air smelled of coffee grounds and exotic spices, and there was a rich warmth that seemed to wrap around me as soon as I walked in the door. This was apparently a coffeehouse, although not like one I had ever been in. The room was shadowed, and there were small tables scattered about, accompanied by comfortable little poofy chairs at each. Along the wall were some small booths, plushly lined, and at the very back wall was a small, raised stage. The only light on was a spotlight that illuminated a man who was standing at the center of the stage, in front of a mic.
I realized that there were a few people sitting at tables near the front; most were looking at the man on the stage with rapt attention, and a few were clutching coffees. I noticed that one of the people looked like our neighbor, Mr. Lunfew. I didn’t really want to be seen by anyone, so I slunk to the back and slid into one of the small booths. I set my bookbag on the ground, stretched my legs out on the seat, and then reposed comfortably while I observed the scene.
I looked at the man onstage. He looked like he couldn’t have been more than twenty-three years old, but it was hard to tell. He had a dark goatee, black mid-length hair that was partially covered by a maroon beret, and was wearing sunglasses. As I looked at his black turtleneck and dark pants, I realized that he reminded me very much of something or someone I had read about… what was it…
He was speaking into the mic, hands in his pockets. He looked totally aloof and comfortable, not stuttering or faltering at all. His voice was soft and husky, and oddly…smoky. I realized that I liked to listen to him speak; his voice was polar opposite of my mothers’.
The air was pleasantly warm, the seat was comfy, the man’s voice was a cadence punctuated by rhythmic exclamations of “like” and “cool” and “man”. I was becoming drowsy. Submerged in the tranquil atmosphere, the exotic slang-language of the man with the smoky voice, the warm scents around me…I drifted off.

~~~*~~~

I dreamed, and remembered.

I remembered when Dad had been alive. I remembered when mom had not been fat and mean and bitter; but beautiful and happy and filled with smiles. That was back before the accident, back before we lost everything. I still remember the last thing that he ever said to me:
/“Don’t forget to take care of your mother, Mona!”
My dad called jokingly out of the window of his car. I told him that I wouldn’t, and he flashed thumb-pinky-forefinger at me; the sign language for ‘I love you’. He backed out of the driveway, turned his car, and was gone.
That was the last time I had ever seen him alive.
In the middle of geography class, they called me to the principal’s office. The principal told me that someone had come to take me home. I was confused. Had I done something wrong?
A serious-looking policeman drove me home in his car, and walked me to the door.
I opened it, to discover my mother at the table, crying. She was sitting at the table with another policeman, who was speaking softly to her. I only barely caught the words “car crash” and “windshield” and “spinal column”.
That afternoon, I learned that my father had died. /
My sleep had turned uneasy. I remembered his laugh, his kindness, his infectious spirit. I remembered how my mother had once been young and thin and beautiful. After he had died, she had gone into deep depression, and began to use food as a way out. Once he had died, it seemed that all her laughter and happiness had died with him. Was he the only good thing in our family? Now that he was dead, it certainly seemed so.

Father…

1I woke up, feeling wetness on my cheeks, but also feeling warmer and more content than I had felt for a while. I opened my eyes and rubbed away the moisture, expecting to find myself at home in bed…
The first thing I noticed was that I was sprawled in a booth.
The second thing I noticed was that there was a thin black coat –that wasn’t mine-spread over me.
I blinked, and looked around. Then it all came back to me. Oh yeah, I had skipped school… how long had I been here? And secondly, whose coat was this?
“Well, look who finally woke up.”
I jumped, looking around.
The man who had been up on the stage when I had fallen asleep was now leaning on the top of my booth. I looked up at him, disconcerted. I realized that he had taken off his shades. I thought it was a little creepy…to think that he might’ve been watching me while I slept?
I looked into his eyes. They were a hazy green-blue, and looked to me like the kindest eyes I had seen in a long time. The thin lines around them made me think of my father’s eyes…
I reached up, brushing a hand under my own eyes. Had I been crying in my sleep?
“So what are you doin’ out here, little hepcat? I thought that all you were locked up in dullsville right about now?”
“Uhh..” I wasn’t sure what to say. His dialect was strange to me, and I wasn’t entirely sure of what he meant.
“Oh, I dig, I dig. Catchin’ the one-way train to the Lower East Side. It’s all good, you can trust me.”
He winked.
I felt really dumb, only being able to say “uuuhhh..”. I think this guy had just told me that he knew I had skipped school, but I wasn’t sure how to respond.
“So..” I tried, “um…who are you?” I winced. Geez, I was so stupid sometimes!
“Sorry, it’s just--” I tried to recover, but he placed a hand on my shoulder, effectively interrupting me.
“Don’t fret, little hepcat. My name is Dean Hones, resident service to the Beat.” He gave a small bow. I still didn’t know what to say.
“Eh..Dean, i-is this your coat?” I said, picking it up off me, and offering it to him.
“It most certainly is, man. You were looking a bit chilly down here in coolsville, and that doesn’t jive with me. Dig?”
I thought that I had once heard or read that lingo somewhere, but I couldn’t pinpoint it. I also couldn’t think of a popular response. I tried to go with what he was saying.
“Yeah…I dig.” I said uncertainly.
He laughed richly, and slapped the booth top.
“Somebody get little hepcat a java on the house!” he cried.
“I .. um..” I started to say, but he was gone. He came back after about a minute, a cup of steaming coffee in his hand.
“Here man, free of charge.” he said, handing it to me. I took it, and held it in my hands, letting its warmth seep into them. Unexpectedly, I felt a hard lump form in my throat. My eyes burned. I had no idea why I would feel this way, over a cup of coffee no less! But I knew why. This man, Dean, had shown me more kindness in five minutes than my mother had shown me in six years. But that didn’t mean that I wanted to break down and cry in front of him. Wait for it- if he had been watching me sleep, he’d probably already seen me do that.
I took a large gulp of the java, and it burned my tongue and scorched my throat all the way down. At least it effectively decimated the lump in my throat and gave me a reason to wipe my watering eyes.
“I..um..thanks.” I mumbled lamely. I really couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“No prob, man. These are hard times. It’s my duty to help my fellow man, dig?” He said. I really loved listening to his voice.
“Yeah..”
We talked on and off for about an hour; he told me about his family and life and love of poetry. I didn’t have very much that I thought was interesting to talk about; I still thought it was a little weird that he took so much interest in me. I only mentioned in passing the death of my father, but he took it in stride and offered his condolences in his strange way. I didn’t wish to bore him with my complaints and life story, so after I had finished my java, I said that I should probably be going.
“Well, come back to coolsville anytime you need an ear or a freebee. Cool?” Dean said, holding out his hand.
“Yeah...cool.” I said, holding out my own. He slapped my hand in a high-five, and then I got up. I walked toward the door to leave, and then I noticed something.
Near the door was a small gumball machine. The front of it declared,
“Every 1 in 25 people wins a fabulous prize!” but since I had never been a winner in my life, I paid it no attention.
Well, I was gonna buy some gum anyway…so why not from here?
I pulled the quarter out of my pocket, and inserted it into the slot. I heard the clink that signified my gums’ arrival, and I retrieved it.
It wasn’t gum. Instead was a small plastic bubble, the cap of which declared that it was indeed the “Fabulous prize”. Well, at least I won…sometimes. I shoved it in my pocket. I would open it at home, later. It was probably some dumb fake jewelry, anyway.
I still felt a little self-conscious around Dean, so I waved, and left, trying not to look back.
At home that night after a meager dinner and a plentiful shouting match, I was lying in bed, rolling my “Fabulous Prize” between my fingers. I popped the plastic top off, and spilled the prize onto my palm. There was a small sealed plastic bag that contained a silver whistle about an inch long attached to a thin-chained necklace, and a small, folded square of paper.
What was this, a dog whistle? I don’t have dog. I thought as I tore through the plastic.
I held the whistle in my fist and unfolded the square of paper.
It read in slanted writing:
Sound the whistle before you sleep, if your need is great enough.
That was it. Just that one, strange message. I put the paper on my nightstand with a derisive snort. “if my need was great enough”? What was that supposed to mean?! But I did not drop the whistle. Instead on impulse, I slipped the chain over my head, and around my neck. I lay there in the gathering darkness, toying with the whistle, catching the sunset on it so that it gleamed red. I had never been very superstitious about these things, but sometimes I could ‘dig’ them. I smiled, remembering Dean.
I blew into the whistle, not caring if it made a loud enough noise to wake my mother; but it didn’t. It made no audible sound to me.
Hn. Must be a dud.
Oh well. I tucked it under my shirt anyway. It would make a nice necklace.
I turned over and went to sleep.

I dreamed.

I was standing up in front of my open window. I had my slippers on, and a sweatshirt and sweatpants. The moon was shining brightly in the dark sky, and I suddenly felt compelled to move. I climbed out of the window, scooted down the roof, and jumped to the ground.
As I turned around, I saw it.
There was a dragon standing in the front lawn.
Even in my dream, I could not help but gawk. My jaw, I thought, was probably halfway down to the ground. I squeezed my eyes shut, and when I opened them again…it was still there.
I thought moment to simply turn around and run, but then it spoke.
“Mona.”
I heard the sound not with my ears, but with my heart and mind. The voice of the dragon was like a deep bass thrum in my ribcage and behind my eyes.
“Y-you…you can talk?” I said, disbelieving. It was weird enough to dream up a dragon in the front lawn, but a talking dragon?
“Yes,” the dragon said, “did you not call me?”
I reached instinctively to the whistle that was, even in my dreams, around my neck. I had called this? In my wildest thoughts, I had never conjured this as what might have answered the whistle’s call.
“Yes…” I whispered.
“Then you will ride with me?” It asked.
I looked at the dragon.
It was long and thin, with the body of a traditional Chinese dragon. Red scales like gleaming rubies covered its body, tapering off at the legs and head. Its underbelly was creamy and smooth-looking, like that of a snake. It had no wings; its appendages were short but powerful looking, ending in golden birdlike talons. There was a thick ruff of fur that extended from between its rather small, bovine ears down its spine, before tapering off along its back legs. The fur was iridescent and diaphanous like angel hair, and returned in a thick fan on the edges of the tail.
But it was the creature’s face that intrigued me.
Thin and vulpine, framed by long whiskers  it looked less dragon-like than the rest of its body; but the thick, shining horns that protruded from it’s mane made it more fearsome to look at.
It looked at me with liquid, shining eyes.
“I will ride with you.” I heard myself say.
It bowed its great head, and almost instinctively I knew what to do. I grabbed ahold of one golden horn, hoisted one leg up over its back, and swung myself on. Now I wasn’t sure what to do. I held onto the horns lightly, not wanting to ask. But I didn’t need to. It straightened its legs, and I could feel the incredible strength of its body.
“Hold tight.” was all it said. It turned across the lawn and began to run, body twisting in a smooth, undulating motion. It gathered speed as it ran, and then in one rapid motion, it pushed from the ground, and we soared into the sky.
We were flying!
I couldn’t believe my eyes. But as I watched, we were lifting swiftly away from the ground, higher and higher…
In my vertigo, I clutched tight to the dragon’s horns, and buried my face in its soft mane.
“Do not be afraid.” I felt its powerful voice vibrating through me, and I lifted my head.
We were now flying sinuously through the air, high above the houses and trees. There was a breeze blowing against my face as I surveyed the world below me.
It seemed transformed; the moon illuminated the small lakes so that they shone like quicksilver, and the dark trees seemed to sparkle as moisture on them reflected the light. People’s houses seemed small and insignificant; now there was only the dark wind and the stars and the moon. This night, I beheld the world with a lovers’ eye, and I was breathless with its wonder.
I asked the dragon who he was, and why he had come to me. I did not feel fear anymore, only a kind of marvelous gratitude.
He told me that he was called Maolan, and had been summoned by my need.
“Need…” I said quietly.
I buried my face in his mane, and willed him to fly me the whole world over.

I woke up the next morning with the silver whistle clutched in my hand. I felt both blissfully happy and disappointed. I wished that I could have stayed in bed just a bit longer.
~***~
I went to school and didn’t hear a single word the teachers spoke. Instead I revisited the beautiful dream of flying, and felt impatient that the day couldn’t go faster. I just wanted to go home and sleep.
This time when the school bell rang, I did throw myself into the hall melee. I did not linger near the bathroom, but instead pushed my way out of the doors and fairly jogged home. I couldn’t care less if my mother were to argue with me, which of course she did. I merely nodded and said “yes, ma’am” and then rushed to my room and threw the door closed.
I lay in bed for about five minutes, before I realized that I wasn’t tired.
Damn!
So instead, I wiled away two hours, grabbing a quick bite to eat (from the week old leftovers in the fridge) took a cold, two-minute shower (my mother had turned the hot water off after her own luxurious shower), and did one piece of Advanced algebra homework.
Then I went and lay in my bed, clutching the thin whistle tightly in my hand. Now that I was ready, doubts had surfaced. What if it had all been a fluke? What if it really had just been a really good dream? Would my life suck totally, once more?
I looked at the whistle then blew on it hard. Then I turned over to sleep.

I looked out over the open window, onto the moon-shrouded lawn. There stood Maolan, looking up at me in the moonlight. I ran to him, and then he flew me away, away from my abusive mother and dead father. Away from my stupid teachers and classmates. Away from Dean…

~~~*~~~

The days seemed to melt together as time went on. My life seemed to be turning for the better the more I flew with Maolan. I was still failing classes, but I had brought up the grade in one class (Advanced Algebra) because I was actually doing the homework in an attempt to wear myself out.
My mother was still evil, restricting my dinners and breakfasts’ whenever she found fault with what I did, but it was easier to deal with her now, too.
I went to visit Dean a couple times at the Hep Cafè, got free javas and listened to his poetry. Whenever I saw him, I thought about how kind and good he was, and wished that I could share my nightly excursions with him. However, this was impossible. I had asked Maolan about it one night, and he told me that only I, the bearer of the whistle could summon him.
So, I talked, and listened and visited Dean as much as I could. He even walked me to the end of the parking lot a couple of times.
Life was going better than it had done for a long, long time.

Until one night, my mother found out.

One day, I returned home after skipping school (again) and found my mother waiting for me outside the front door.
I stopped short at this ominous sign. What could’ve happened?
As I got nearer, I realized that there was a look of badly-suppressed vindictive pleasure on her face.
“So,” she said, before I could say anything, “I heard from the principal that you’ve been skipping school.”
I didn’t answer.
“I also talked to Mr. Lunfew. He says he’s seen you walk into the coffee shop, the Hep Cafè” she almost spat the word, “on more than one occasion when you should’ve been at school.”
I flushed. Mr. Lunfew had been in there too! He was such a nosy neighbor; couldn’t he keep to his own business?!
We began to argue loudly. About school, about the coffeehouse, and when she tried to ban me from going to the Cafe, our argument only escalated. It got so that I couldn’t even really understand what we were yelling about anymore.
But I lost the shouting match.
And it ended badly for me. She put me on house lockdown for a week, (pretty stupid seeing as I was getting in trouble for not being at school) and I couldn’t eat dinner that entire week. If I could find the keys to those padlocks, I thought I’d never go hungry again.
So I was sent to my room, and when I got there, I had a nasty surprise.
So, she actually did it. I thought.
She had had bars installed over my window, to ensure that I didn’t leave. I rattled them to test their strength, but they didn’t budge.
I threw myself on my bed, too angry to cry. Now I couldn’t see Dean! I’m sure she’d stop me from ever seeing him again. I buried my face into the pillow
How was I going to see Maolan?

I blew my whistle that night, hoping and praying that somehow, I could see him. I lay in bed for a while, before at last drifting into an uneasy sleep.

In the dream world, the bars on my window were gone. I jumped joyfully through the window, and went to Maolan. I climbed onto his back and pressed my face into his mane. I could spend more time with him this week, I thought. That was the only good thing.

As the first day of my punishment progressed, I simply lay in bed and drifted in and out of sleep. I discovered that as I did, I would fade in and out of the dream world with Maolan, but I would be flying with him every time I descended, as though the world hadn’t moved without me when I was awake.
I arose only once or twice over the next two days to grab a Pop-tart or handful of Chex mix, but gradually I lost my hunger in favor of staying in Maolan’s world.
As the days wore on, we flew and flew without pause. It seemed that we began to visit worlds that were not of Earth.
We flew over a land where lavender crystalline peaks rose through a sea of rose-hued mist and clouds, and the sky had three moons and no sun. At the end of this world, Maolan gave a call that sounded like music from an ocarina riding on wind. The sky seemed to fade and then meld into different colors, and then when we went through, I found myself in another world.
Here, we flew through a world where pale-furred green beasts grazed lush blue grass underneath a rolling blue sky, and the wind smelled faintly of honey. The end of this world was a vast ocean that was greenish, but crystal-clear, so much like Dean’s eyes. Maolan flew low over this ocean, so that I could lean over and trail my fingers through the cold water. And when he roared, the sound of rushing water met my ears, and when I looked down, the water was swirling. We flew into this whirlpool, into a hole that was black in its depths.
We flew over a land that was black and devoid of sentient life, where purple and orange flames razed over the dark land and spiderlike imps scoured the dead ground.
We flew through many, many worlds, and at the end of each, Maolan opened his mouth and gave a loud cry that seemed to split the heavens of the world. I asked him what he was doing, and he said that his cries opened the places between worlds. He said that he had over a million different calls, once for each different world. My mind raced at the thought of visiting a million different worlds with Maolan.
On the last day of my imprisonment, I awoke at mid-evening to find that I couldn’t get out of bed. It had been four days since I had last ate, and two days since I had had anything to drink. But I had no hunger, or thirst. My stomach seemed to have been left behind in the worlds I had traveled.
I discovered that it was terribly hard to even move. My arms and legs had thinned greatly. My fingers looked like sticks to me. So I merely lay in bed, and dove deep into sleep.
When I went opened my eyes in my dream world, there were bars on the window.
I looked through the window, and saw Maolan standing on the lawn. I clutched the bars, rattling them furiously.
“Maolan!” I called, “I can’t break these bars!”
He looked up at me.
“Do you wish to be free?” he said in his powerful voice.
I thought that an odd question.
“Of COURSE I want to be free! Can you help me?” I asked.
He nodded his assent, and told me to step back from the window. I did so, and as I did, I felt a strange sensation. There was a thrumming that seemed to rattle in my breastbone, becoming so deep that it was almost painful. Then the bars seemed almost to melt, and then they were gone.
Joyously, I climbed out the window and ran to Maolan, but he did not bow his head like he usually did. Instead, he surveyed me with those liquid eyes.
“Now, you must choose.” he said, tossing his head.
“What? Choose?” I echoed, bewildered.
“Yes. You must choose.” He arched his neck, and for a moment, the reddening sky caught his his golden eyes so that they glowed like demonfire. I stepped back, a little frightened.
“You have only two choices. You must make one, here and now. Think, before you answer, because there will be no turning back.” he said, and I nodded to show that I understood.
“If you take choice one, then you will remain here on Earth. You will live out the remainder of your teenage years in this house with your mother, but one day you will become a much-loved storyteller, and a wife to a man named Dean.”
I was angered that I would even have to put up with her, but the thought of growing up and marry Dean eclipsed that thought, and made me almost giddy with shock.
“Dean? But, I had no idea that he even wanted-“
“The second choice,” Maolan interrupted, “is that you can choose to take one last ride with me. We will tour the worlds forever, and you will never be tormented again.”
I stopped, and turned this thought over in my head. I could be free from my mother’s tyranny…forever. I could see the beauty of the cosmos…forever.
“You must choose.” he said, softly.
I turned to look at my house.
The boards at the base were thin and worn and broken, the paint chipping. The roof was sagging and the tiles were falling off. The windows that my father had so proudly designed and built were wavy and taped and cracked. The house was just as broken and worn down as our family.
And at that moment, I could see through my mother’s eyes.
         She saw me, with my eyes and smile that looked so much like Dads’. She also saw the strong lines of my face when I smiled, and the sculpted nose that was hers.
She punished me because I was everything that she didn’t want to face. She left me hungry in an attempt to wither away all her feelings.
Where did Dad end? Where did I begin?          
But I was all that held her together.
I looked back at Maolan. His jewel-bright body gleamed in the fading light, and his angelhair mane caught the sunset and held it. He looked back at me, waiting silently for his answer.
Why the sudden choice? I wondered. But deep in my heart, I though I knew.
I turned to look at the house once more, taking it in, tracing every sharp curve and sagging frame. Looking at the bars that sealed my body inside of it. Then I moved toward him.
He knelt down, and I clutched one of his pearly horns. I had a moment of doubt, like a camera click—
Dean was so kind. Could I one day find such happiness with him?
--but then it was gone, and I swung a leg over his long back. I pressed my face against his fur, feeling the silky smoothness of it against my cheek, and willing the image of his burning eyes to go away.
“Let’s go.” I heard myself say.
“Then let us take one last ride.” His voice was like a trumpet peal in my mind.
He turned and ran, gathering speed greater than he ever had before. He opened his mouth and called to the sky; a cacophonic sound like none I had ever heard before. He pushed off from the ground, and then we were flying, racing high into the unexplored heavens.

I did not look back.


As the sun rose into the sky, a ray of sunlight fell through an open window and onto a bed where a girl lay. Her face, framed by dirty honey-blonde hair was thin and worn and wasted; on one half-curled palm lay a slim silver whistle. The thin bones of her cheeks seemed birdlike and fragile, and her face had been drained of its ruddy color. Only her lips had retained their color; they were creased in a small mona-lisa smile. As the sun fell on her cheek and closed eyes, she turned for an instant into the beautiful woman she might’ve become.
And the silver whistle crumbled to ash in her unmoving hand.